Damn My Pride
by Clez
Summary: Someone thinks back on a hectic day...


Bosco moved to slam his third floor apartment door, and hesitated, taking a moment to stare at the wooden door, before sighing lightly, and closing it gently instead, hearing it click closed as he pressed it shut with his palm, locking it shortly afterwards. He slid the chain across the middle of the door, and reached up and turned the overhead key. He never had taken risks. He was careful.  
  
It had been one hell of a day. Well... night. It was now, well, it had to be close on two in the morning. They had had to work overtime again, and he and Yokas hadn't been able to get away from the crime scene any sooner. Now he was absolutely exhausted, and at home, safely in his own space, he was happy to show it, where no one could see.  
  
He never had liked others to see any sort of weakness in him before. Not since he was a kid. Growing up in that sort of tough neighbourhood had made a man of him early... or so he liked to think. His partner often called him a child, and maybe she was right.  
  
Bosco sure as hell acted immature sometimes, in his ways and how he lost his patience too soon. Violence is never a way to solve your problems, his mother had told him. He had never really paid too much attention to his mother, and he regretted that a little now. Maybe he would've learned something valuable from her if he had. He had most definitely listened to his father. Not that he had been easy to ignore.  
  
Slinging his keys onto the side cabinet, he threw off his jacket, tossing it aimlessly at the coat rack, and hearing it fall to the floor instead. He ignored it, and carried on to the lounge, slumping down in a mess on the couch at once, head sinking back comfortably into the haphazard cushions.  
  
His mind played back on the evening, and he stared up at the ceiling as he thought. It had been pretty quiet from the start of the shift, and he and Yokas had just lounged around in the squad car most of the day, drinking coffee and not talking as usual. She had tried countless times, as per normal, and he had simply stared rudely out of the driver seat, listening to the crackle and incessant noise from the radio on his shoulder.  
  
He had watched numerous expensive company cars cruise past their parked vehicle, people peddling their way on bicycles, and the odd member of the public taking an afternoon jog or stroll. God, it had bored him to watch all of that.  
  
That was when it had happened. He had picked out the words of an emergency over the radio, calling for all available units to converge on a shooting immediately. They had sprung right into action.  
  
He had driven the car at a ridiculous speed like he always did, and Yokas had scrambled for her seatbelt as he swerved around corners, lights flashing on the roof. He had practically yelled at other cars to move aside in their rush to a crime scene.  
  
When they had arrived, Sullivan and Davis were already there, the new guy wearing his hat... again. Why was that kid always wearing that thing? Couldn't he tell from looking at the others that it wasn't necessary.  
  
"We've got a shooter inside," Sully had told him immediately, and Bosco had been rearing to go. Yokas had held him back, urging him quietly to calm down.  
  
And he had actually listened. That was the strange thing. When did he ever listen? Maybe Yokas was finally wearing off on him, god forbid. He smiled.  
  
"Any victims?" Yokas had asked, hands on her hips, calm in the face of a crisis. Why was she always like that? Why was she never itching to take down a scumbag like Bosco? Maybe that was why the force had made them partners... polar opposites, he supposed. Another smile.  
  
Sully had turned in their direction fully, hand rested on his gun patiently, and had responded, "Not that we know. Someone inside the building called 911, and just said shots had been fired. He didn't know if there was anyone hurt."  
  
At that moment, a bus had arrived, Kim and Bobby climbing out of their respective sides, and walking over, gear over their shoulders at the ready.  
  
They asked their questions, and Sully relayed the information he was aware of onto them.  
  
Bosco had tuned out right about then, his eyes turning up to stare at the run-down apartment building on the shady side of town. He sometimes pitied people who couldn't afford anything better. Something else he never showed.  
  
He had spotted a few shadows passing by dark windows, pausing every few moments to glare down at the chaotic scene below, where flashing lights illuminated everything for a good two hundred yards. At least six squad cars were present, and one ambulance. They might have need for more. Who knew?  
  
But as Bosco had stared mesmerised up at those windows, he had caught something out of the corner of his eye that had made his head snap back to the alley beside the building. Someone had tried to sneak out the side exit.  
  
Without saying a word, he had shot off in that direction, hearing Yokas' urgent cry behind him, yelling his name in desperation. He had heard it so many times; it was practically natural as an everyday occurrence now.  
  
Seeing clearly that the figure he pursued was armed, he had pulled his gun on the move, pulling off the safety, and gripping it firmly in one gloved hand, adrenaline pumping, heart racing. He heard the sound of his boots on the pavement as he ran as fast as his legs would carry him, and he could tell he was gaining on the guy fast. It was a guy... he had been able to tell that much at that distance.  
  
The guy had twisted his body around partially, and had popped off a bad shot, but it was still enough to make Bosco jump, and he had lost a little time in his shock. He hadn't expected the moron to fire at him... not yet anyway.  
  
Pushing himself on harder, he had caught up with the fleeing gunman in moments, ploughing himself bodily into him, feeling him go down. The two had rolled over one another for a few seconds, before the guy had landed a punch on Bosco, obviously having lost a grip on his gun.  
  
As had Bosco.  
  
He had reminded himself right then to take more care in taking down culprits.  
  
He had struck back at the man, who he could see then was in his mid- thirties, if not a little younger, with a receding hairline, and dark shadowy eyes, gangly figure of nearing on six feet, and rough attire. The look in the bloodshot eyes had been crazed, and had in truth frightened Bosco a little. He had started to think he had made a mistake in pursuing alone. Where were the others?  
  
Grabbing hold of the front of Bosco's uniform roughly, the man had brought a knee up into the young officer's gut, knocking the wind right out of him. The guy had been stronger than he looked.  
  
Bosco remembered falling back against the fence for a minute, before ducking quickly and slightly panicked beneath a pole the criminal had retrieved from somewhere close at hand. At least it hadn't been his gun.  
  
Bosco had dropped to the floor, still slightly out of breath, and had rolled, kicking out the back of the guy's leg, seeing him go down. But he was quickly back on his feet, swinging again, and landing a solid blow on Bosco's right side. He had given a sharp cry, stunned, and had grabbed the weapon when it had swung down at him again, remembering feeling the sting as the metal cracked against his hands. He remembered using the momentum of the upswing to bring himself back upright, and strike out with a fist at the guy's face, hitting him square in the jaw.  
  
The man had stumbled backwards slightly, and had held up a hand to his face. Bosco had used the mere moment to scan for his gun. He should have known better. The guy had played him.  
  
Bosco had been hit suddenly in the side of the leg this time by the pole, but it had been a lazy swing, knocking him only slightly off balance, but enough to give the guy time to reach out and grab him by the scruff of his uniform's neck, slinging him against the fence to his left. He had bounced off it slightly, wincing at the stinging in his leg, and hadn't even seen the next blow coming. It had hit him solidly and with unexpected force right in the stomach. A fourth blow had struck against his hand, which he had tried to use for his defence, and failed. With a stunned cry, he had gone down to the hard floor below, panting with the shock, watching through hazed vision as the ragged man had bent down and picked up something just off to his side.  
  
A gun... Bosco's gun. He had recognised it instantly, and he remembered his eyes going wide as the guy had taken aim on him, his hands not even shaking. He had dropped the pole behind him, out of the officer's reach, who had then been unable to defend himself.  
  
"Guess you cops aren't all as clever as you think you are," he remembered the guy saying calmly, stoically, his voice carrying only the subtlest hint of pleasure at what he had been about to do.  
  
A sudden loud bang had filled the air, and Bosco had watched breathlessly as the man had stared down at him for a moment, and then shuddered once, falling to the floor and dropping the gun, before lying still.  
  
Bosco had stared unwaveringly at that motionless body for a good ten seconds before he looked up into the concerned gaze of Yokas as she crouched down before him.  
  
"God dammit, Bosco," she had mumbled, before noticing how he hadn't moved, "are you okay?"  
  
He hadn't responded for a moment, only stared at her, registering that she had been the one to fire the shot, seeing the gun held firmly in her right hand, finger rested beside the trigger, no longer on it.  
  
"Bos'?"  
  
"I... uh, I'm fine," he had managed to say, clearing his throat, and using his right hand to reach up and grip the fence to lift off the floor. He had winced, and Yokas had holstered her weapon, stretching out a hand to him.  
  
Kim and Bobby had come running full speed down the alley, Sully and Davis in tow. Bobby had moved past the others, bag over one shoulder, standing beside Yokas as the two watched Bosco intently.  
  
Sully had bent down to retrieve both handguns, handing Bosco's back to him. Bosco had moved to reach out his left hand to take it back, and had stopped, wincing momentarily, before choosing instead to hold out the other to receive his weapon, and re-holster it.  
  
He vaguely remembered Yokas asking something about his hand, before Bobby had taken it upon himself to reach out and take it in his own. Bosco had stifled a cry, and had leaned back against the fence, feeling about two inches high. He had felt like an idiot.  
  
"This looks broken," Bobby had observed matter-of-factly, looking back at Kim, "what happened?"  
  
Bosco had merely pointed at the pole lying not far from Davis' feet. The new officer had shoved it with his boot.  
  
They had made their way then back to the collection of vehicles, a newly arrived set of paramedics heading down the alley to retrieve the body that Kim had confirmed as dead.  
  
Bosco recalled explaining to the senior officer what had happened as he sat in the back of the ambulance, letting Bobby inspect his hand carefully. It had hurt like hell, but Bosco had ignored it as much as possible so as not to let anyone know.  
  
After that, they had taken a short trip to the hospital, where Bosco had had his hand x-rayed to confirm a break, and had it set in a cast. He had been told he couldn't return to work for at least four weeks, which was a definite pain in the ass. That had just made Bosco angrier with himself. After all his time in the force, he should have known not to give chase alone. What was it about him that compelled such action?  
  
As he lay on his sofa, remembering Yokas driving him home, and telling him to get well so she could have her crazy partner back, Bosco let out a loud sigh, and lifted his left hand, staring irritably at the cast that covered it to just past the wrist. His leg ached slightly from the blow, and he still felt a little winded, but he had been given some painkillers that he had been assured would help with that.  
  
Crap, he thought, wondering what he was going to do with his time for the next few weeks. Like he needed a month off anyway. How the hell was he going to make back the money? Or did he get sick pay? He couldn't recall.  
  
Yawning, he let his arm fall gently to the couch again, before reconsidering, and resting it on his stomach instead, as carefully as he could manage. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but it still hurt more than he thought it would.  
  
The last thought that ran through his head before falling to sleep was still with him when he woke the next morning.  
  
Damn my pride. 


End file.
